Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Today was the first day of Sean's 11 day trip. Hopefully all goes well, and he's actually home in 11 days. I know when he returns, we will have lots of broken stuff for him to fix. Already, after day 1, we have a doll house and a lawn mower in need of repair. The lawn mower actually broke yesterday. But Sean fixed it. It wouldn't start, he replaced a spark plug and cleaned the carburetor. It started last night. And again this afternoon. Then it stopped. I restarted it. Then it stopped. About 10 times I restarted it and it stopped. Enough so that I could at least get most of the back yard mowed. Then it blew up. I didn't flinch. Things are always blowing up around here.

I loaded that sucker right into the minivan and called the repair shop. When I say "right into" really it took me about an hour. I had to vacuum first. I was having some problems maneuvering it around the goldfish crackers. They giggled a little. The goldfish. Till I sucked them up. Look who's laughing now, suckers!

Since I've accepted the fact there is not a chance in hell I could be a lady of leisure, I am a lady of lawn. I like to cut it and I can't stand it tickling anywhere higher than my ankle bone when I'm chasing the triple threat. It makes it harder to find dog poop, kid poop, and my belongings that the children have hid when I've neglected it.

Last weekend we went to a cook out at a friends' home. Two guys, roommates, living together. Lillian has been to this house many times before, but she wanted a tour. She also wanted to know why they had two separate beds in two separate rooms? And why don't they live with their wives? Why don't they have wives? She presumed that these men have been proposed to before but told their prospective wives, sorry, I already have a roommate. Or she guessed, "Maybe they're just not ready to get married yet."

I did eat three times today, not meals, but something. Three times. This morning I even ate cherries sitting down. And had time to spit out the seeds. Instead of just swallowing them. Still, I choked on one as I bolted from the table, wildly explaining with my hands, since I couldn't breath, why it's important to keep our hands to ourselves. While I expressed with my hands, I kicked myself in the ass for not teaching my babies sign language at two weeks of age like all the other good mothers do.

When Sean goes on trips, it feels like I have roommates. Three of them. And a dog. But these roommates suck. They don't help with the dog. They leave sippy cups full of spoiled milk everywhere and pass out in my bed every night. They poop in their pants, hog the television, and eat all the good snacks. And they keep calling me mom. It's a little weird if you ask me. Maybe I'm not ready for this I think. Then I remember. They're not my roommates. They're my babies. I've been ready for this my whole life. They're the best babies I ever had.

I should make out with the snowball guy for giving me my peaceful moment of the day.

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

It's the middle of the night and Sean tells me he's being swallowed by a taco. I look around and realize I'm also being swallowed by a taco. It's at this point I realize there is one of three things going on here. A. We are so in sync after 10 years of marriage that we actually have the same dreams. B. A horny bear slipped something into both of our drinks. Or C. Our air mattress has a leak.

The next day we took a hike to Cunningham Falls. Our chosen route was listed as 'strenuous' but only a two mile hike round trip. I feel like I am strong, both mentally and physically. So is Sean. I've run marathons. Thirteen times that hikes' distance. I run and skate most days of the week. While pushing one or two children in a monstrous 34 pound beast of a stroller. When not running and skating, I can take all three on a five mile walk. Pushing two children in beast, carrying another one on my back in the Ergo Carrier. This stroller is so beastly it has its own name. We'll just call him BOB. While I love BOB so much that Sean should feel like he has competition, BOB needs to go on a diet. Losing the kid weight would be his best plan of action. We take the kids hiking a couple of times a year. Choosing the easy trails, sometimes even BOB comes. Maybe we misjudged 'strenuous'. By the time we returned from that strenuous hike, we were sweating our asses off. It was hard work. It felt like we got swallowed by a taco.

Sean was quite the woodsman. Beating at branches with a hatchet as sharp as butter. Building campfires, assembling a tent, and cooking dinners. I washed dishes in a bucket and excitedly made coffee three times a day with my new blue percolator from Kmart. It's adorable. I'm in love. Ten years ago I used to jokingly tell Sean that my right hand was jealous of my left. He promised me a fancy ring for my right hand on our ten year anniversary. Those ten years went faster than Sean thought they would. Now, I can't think of anything I want less.

The answer is C. The air mattress.

Love you blue percolator.

On our last day, we hiked to Cat's Rock. Also listed as 'strenuous'. But by that point we were used to the taco swallowing. It was by far a much steeper of a climb than the day before. We sweat our asses off. It was so worth it.

Quite the woodsman.

I promise I did not start off this inappropriately dressed. But like I said. We sweat our asses off. The higher we went, the more clothes I lost.

During our trip, I actually got to read a book, Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail. The story of a twenty six year old woman, with no backpacking experience, hiking solo for three months. Trying to find herself after years of fumbling. While we only hiked a few miles, and we had each other, I could relate. Sean and I were remembering who we were, pre triple threat. We were finding each other and ourselves, all over again. Once we had reached the falls on that first day of hiking, we scaled the rocks all the way to the top, where the water began. I sat down and let the water gush over my hand. Glancing down at my wedding ring shining through the clear water. My right hand didn't feel jealous. Just blessed. While my left hand may carry the ring. My entire being carries the actual love.

Friday, July 20, 2012

I used to tell my friend Jenny that the sign of a clean bathroom was a spotless toilet base. Sounds thrilling right? I'm sure you want to be my friend now. This was before I even had kids, or owned my own home. I imparted this piece of wisdom upon her when we were roommates, right out of college. There was actually a waiting list. To be my roommate. Everyone wanted to know how to spot a clean bathroom. I chose Jenny. She still thanks me everyday. As she's cleaning her toilet base.

These days, I still remember to wipe around the base of our toilets. Those tiny knobs drive me nuts. The ones that cover the bolts that hold the toilet down. Yes, this is what I think about. Calgon, take me away.

I'm not even a germ freak. My kids lick toilets, floors, television remotes, shopping carts, and door handles on a daily basis. Then they lick each other. I don't flinch. I just have a hankering for toilet bases. And those darn knobs.

Dempsey has decided to piss me off. He's been stealing my toilet knobs. I caught him one day with one in his mouth. I actually was more concerned about the choking hazard than the germs. Because as you know, I've spent a lot of time in the emergency room lately. Showing up with a child choking on a toilet knob will definitely not help my case.

I removed the knob from Dempsey's mouth, replaced it, and shut the bathroom door. Just so you don't think I'm a complete derelict, I do attempt to keep all bathroom doors closed. Dempsey's just really sneaky. I think he gets it from Grady. But sometimes, it's hard to tell. They each get into their own fair share of trouble. Just when I think I've captured the culprit, I find out it's another one. It's hard to tell sometimes. They're all little people, fairly close in size. About 15 pounds in weight and one foot in height separating the smallest from the biggest. When I fold clothes it's hard to tell whose is whose. It's like the Parent Trap revisited. Which kid is it? Who the hell knows. That's why I just call them Lilliangradydempsey.

Recently, every time I catch Grady doing something he's not supposed to be doing, he tells me, "That's what boys do mom." Well then...let me just tell you what moms do. Never mind, maybe when you're 18.

So tonight, Friday night, yes it is, I set out to clean toilet bases. And wouldn't you know. The first bathroom I hit, both toilet knobs are missing. Dempsey was already asleep. And I checked, he wasn't choking on a toilet knob. I have no idea where he hid them. I'm assuming I'll find one in my cup of coffee tomorrow. Because that's what boys do.

Tuesday, July 17, 2012

So I lost it yesterday. And not on my own children. And I don't regret one second of it. Too bad they were four. Four years old.

Grady got bullied. At the pool. He's three. And only by a couple of weeks. He was surrounded. By three boys that could not have been older than four. They were hitting, shoving, and had their grubby bully paws all over my kid. I took one look up and saw Grady's tearful face. He's not a crier. I dashed through the barely knee deep water, scooped him up, and yelled. At those boys. I threw in some growling for good measure. I don't feel bad about it. Not one bit. My heart ached. In the instant that I saw Grady's expression, my momma bear kicked in. Hence the growling. He had no idea what to do. He wanted to play. He wanted to be their friend. He couldn't escape. I wanted to clobber those bullies with my giant momma bear claws. But I didn't. I wanted to. And I don't feel one bit bad about it.

Their mothers weren't paying attention. They were chatting, lounging, and texting on their cell phones. They didn't even react when I screamed. At their children. Every other mother did. They congratulated me. Those boys had been bullying other children all day. No one had said a word to them. Their mother's were clueless. They were busy. And not paying attention to their children.

One thing I'm not, is oblivious to the fact that my children are, well...children. They have each had their moments when they hit, push, and shove. But I'm not chatting, lounging, or texting on my cell phone. I'm watching, correcting, and teaching. I'm not a perfect mom. But I'm a good mom. One that watches, instills kindness, and harps upon treating others how you would like to be treated.

I tolerate a lot. Sugar addictions, jumping on the bed, painting anything but the paper, and great big messes. Everywhere. One thing I do not tolerate is purposeful meanness.

I feel sorry for those boys. Sorry that their mothers are too busy chatting, lounging, and texting. They need the attention. And just don't get it. Bullies. This is where it starts. Stop it.

Saturday, July 14, 2012

I will be unable to attend Mass tomorrow morning. My husband is bringing home the troops. And I'm not talking about our children. They are already home. They are always home. Always. Can you help me with that? Can you take them for a few days? You don't have any children. Maybe you would like it. They know how to pour wine. They can 'cheers' too. I'm not sure about their bread making abilities, but I'm sure they could learn. I digress. Anyhoo. I am alone with my three blessings. Yes. Three. Blessings. For four days. Yes. Four. Days. I've been alone with them for much longer. I know. Don't think that I forget. Four days is nothing. But I'm hoping you'll understand that I am unable to attend tomorrow. By myself. With my three blessings. Instead we will be pooping, screaming, and throwing entire bowls of Cheerios tainted with Red 40 onto the floor.

You may not be disappointed by our lack of attendance this week. I'm sure you remember last weeks' episode. It started as soon as we attempted to sit down. Before our butts even hit the pew, the woman next to us mumbled some excuse and got up to switch seats. I think she was sacred scared. The air conditioning was broken, as you may remember, and it was quite hot. Grady pummeled me throughout the Mass. The woman across the aisle gave me dirty looks the entire time. She obviously found it shocking that I would allow my child to hit me. I was hot too. I wanted to hit her. Being the good Christian woman that I am, I sent Grady over to sit next to her. Then everyone had to go to the bathroom. Only one of the three actually know how to use a toilet proficiently. I'm pretty sure this was a ploy to play with the baby doll that you keep in the bathroom. The Gospel was being read. Normally I would try to take a break when the collection basket is being passed around. Because like every good Catholic, I would rather save my money to buy more wine for myself. Anyhoo. Off we went to the bathroom. During the Gospel. I am sure this is frowned upon. And I am even more sure that I definitely needed to hear it.

You wouldn't believe the party in the bathroom! I just thought 'basket time' was the party. This was unbelievable! You really should start interrogating your parishioners upon exit. Because everyone is making a break for it during the Gospel. Me? I'm quite embarrassed about the fact that if anyone asks me on any given Sunday, I would be unable to even give a hint as to what the Gospel was about. Instead I am dodging flying hymnals and trying to teach my children how to properly hold it without said hymnal flying onto the alter. Meanwhile I am deflecting crayons that come within inches of your book. I banned all snacks two Sundays ago. But that's another letter.

I was texting my friend Amanda, a fellow parishioner, about last Sunday's display. I was trying to tell her about the seat changing incident. When I attempted to type 'pew' into my phone, 'sex' came up. Is this some cruel joke from AT & T? Because that's exactly how we got into this mess.

Anyhoo. I wish I could be there tomorrow. Because I really enjoy Mass. And I really need it. Instead, I will be crossing myself and praying on the floor over the Red 40. God bless me. Please.

Thursday, July 12, 2012

I love that my children think they are super. Because they are. They wear capes. And run naked. They refer to themselves as 'super boy' and 'super girl'. The two that speak coherently anyway. They sing songs as they run naked. Super boy and super giiirl, always have a way to dooo it. They scale the deck and save the day. And each other. And me.

It must be beetle season. The beetles are everywhere. While the kids dash in and out from the backyard, the beetles follow them in. The morning after, I see the beetles, belly up, scattered throughout my home. They had a tough night. So have I. Finding blankies, piggies, duckies, and pacis. And myself.

I've hit a couple of road blocks. But they don't keep me down. Those road blocks. Because the kids keep me up. They are super. Super girl and super boys.

My kids love bugs. And take care of them. And make them do chores. I was folding clothes in my bedroom today when Grady walked in, wanting to help. He went back to grab his beetle friend. I had tried earlier to flush him down the toilet. "Don't! He's nice!" Grady exclaimed. I said hi to his beetle friend and invited him to help too. "He doesn't know how to fold clothes." Grady spoke for the beetle. "And he can't talk." Bummer. I directed Grady to set the beetle down on the carpet. Grady found another beetle friend for his non clothes folding beetle. "Awww, he's the baby, where's the mom?" Grady inquired. I told him she was taking a break. He didn't get it.

Moms don't take breaks. But they should. Or you'll find yourself belly up.

Grady broke Lillian's soccer trophy. Sean bought super glue to fix it. Within moments of opening it, his fingers were super glued together. I laughed. Sean didn't. I pulled out the nail polish remover. Super giiirl always has a way to dooo it. His fingers were freed. Then Sean laughed. The trophy got fixed. It's easy to get stuck where you are. It takes a miracle, and lots of hard work, to get yourself out.

I feel like a beetle some days. Belly up and no one to help. Then I look around. And find friends like Grady. Suddenly I'm on my feet again. Folding laundry and singing super giiirl always has a way to dooo it! And I'm freed.

Saturday, July 7, 2012

Last night I watched E.T. with Lil and Grady. It's their favorite movie. For the moment. Which means we watch it over, and over, and over again. Until the kids start to believe they're Elliot and Gertie. I think this obsession is common among two to five years olds. It may start before the age of two. I wouldn't know. I don't allow my children to watch television or movies prior to their second birthday. I make Dempsey sit backwards on the couch and read War and Peace. We're at the part when E.T. gets sick and Elliot thinks E.T. is going to die. Lil hugs me and says, "Mom, when you get old and die, I want to put lots of flowers on your rock."

At the pool this afternoon, Dempsey molested two different men. Both were sitting on the edge of the pool and neither had any idea what was coming. The first unsuspecting father had his nipple fondled. The second, a hairy beast of a man, had his chest fur massaged. Dempsey also likes to plant open mouthed kisses on anyone who can't get up and run fast enough. My trained response? Sorry, he's very friendly. Then I admire all the beautiful flowers on my rock.

Dempsey has also been known to grab Grady's penis. This is probably why Grady is not yet potty trained. He is afraid to unleash it. Today was the second day I put underpants on Grady. He kept putting them on backwards. Because honestly, wouldn't you want Buzz Lightyear where you can see him? What point is there if he's on your butt? I showed him the flap in the front. Where he can pull his penis out to pee. Lillian thought this was the best thing ever. She immediately disappeared to her room. That's the moment I hid the scissors. Knowing it wouldn't be long until she was cutting flaps into all her princess panties. Yesterday, Gray watched Sean pee. "I like your penis dad, who got it for you?" He inquired. Sean pretended he didn't hear. But I heard the whole thing. The first thought that popped in my mind? Well...since I've been watching E.T. so much I thought I was Elliot and Gertie's mother. Mary may have been referring to E.T. but I was thinking about a penis.

Mary: If you ever see it again, whatever it is, don't touch it, just call me and we'll have somebody come and take it away.

Sean should really consider himself lucky because Grady told me, "Mom, I don't like your penis or your vagina. But I like your butt." I should have listened to my enlightened friend Maryann when she recommended we call everything mickey. That way, when my kids talk about these things in public, I'm not smelling flowers.

Really, I'm lucky to be able to watch E.T. Our power went out last weekend. All we could watch was each other. The first full day without power started quite innocently. Water play in the backyard. Pool, sliding board, slip and slide, water table, sprinklers. In the end, Seanand I Lil and Dempsey were naked and Grady was wearing a skirt. We gave the kids a bath in the pool.
Everyone kept their mickey's to themselves. I could tell you that I mentioned to Sean that I liked his mickey. But that might make you want to smell your own flowers.

Tuesday, July 3, 2012

At Grady's third emergency visit, he was prescribed an antibiotic to ward off any possible infection that may take place in the gaping wound still left on his chin. Held together by a mere two stitches. Two stitches that dangled precariously. Probably scared to death every time they came within inches of hard flooring. The other three stitches jumped for their lives when they had the chance.

From what I can remember, none of the kids have taken an antibiotic before. And I'm not sure this was the one to start with. Thick and bitter. For the first dose I squeeze the syringe into Grady's mouth as he flies past me. Nothing to it. Obviously I am extremely inexperienced with this. The whole mouthful is sprayed right back at me. I lay him down. I squirt it into the back of his cheek. Same response. Over the course of three days I try everything. I mix it with soda, chocolate milk, and ice cream. I sit on him, bribe him, and try to do it while he's sleeping. All things that were frowned upon by every pediatrican I searched on Google. I look in the mirror to clean my face from the full bottle of Augmentin that has built up over the days. I see a big fat sign on my forehead that reads, You suck at this. I spit the medicine back at the mirror.

We load up the van and head off for some flavoring. Grady picks bubblegum. He adores bubblegum. But I learn, not Augmentin flavored bubblegum. We try it out while we're still at Walgreens. Out it comes onto the floor. Barely missing Lillian who is army crawling under the ropes meant to keep people in line. Doesn't work Walgreens. Take that! The pharmacist tries to make me feel better. She tells me that some of it is probably being absorbed before he has a chance to blast it back out. Sort of like osmosis I think to myself. So the next time an antibiotic is prescribed, I will simply leave the bottle under the prescribed kid's pillow.

Back in the van. Sean and I are texting. I had sent him a kid picture earlier. And it was probably someone elses' kids. I do this sometimes. To make myself feel better. Because I don't like taking medicine either.

Sean We have the cutest kids in America :)

MeYea, especially Grady who just spit an entire dose of bubblegum flavored medicine onto the floor of Walgreens. Meanwhile his sister was walking with a cane, acting all decrepit-like, right behind a little old lady. And Dempsey threw cereal all over the floor.

SeanI guess we have the cutest monsters in the world. (no smiley face)

At the pool today, Grady takes off running. Into the men's bathroom. I take off after him. Then stop abruptly when I glimpse the urinals from the propped open door. It's at this point that I realize naked men may be in there. And they are not of the age when they are used to their mommies seeing their penises fifteen times a day. Naked men. Maybe God is sending me my in. Since he knows I'll never get a chance to see Magic Mike anytime soon. Maybe I'm supposed to be running into the men's bathroom. I decide against it and grab a male lifeguard instead. Because Lord knows I don't want any of the other mothers talking about what a sick individual I am. They might make me take Augmentin.

About Me

I have always wanted lots of children. A whole tribe as my husband Sean will tell you. We had three under four, then three under five, and we survived! The triple threat are now ages 6, 4, and 2. It isn't always easy but our house is always fun, always crazy, and always loud. It's a wonderful life...